


The Fragility of Faith

by FanficsbyVe



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 01:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficsbyVe/pseuds/FanficsbyVe
Summary: Shira and Halflight discuss their faith in change in a city that never changes. One-shot.





	The Fragility of Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Densiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Densiel/gifts).



> Densiel requested a friendship fic about Shira and Halflight. I hope this is close enough. XD

Time stood still inside the Ringed City. 

Shira found it agonizing sometimes. To be locked here in this darkroom, waiting for what possibly seemed like forever. Just…waiting and watching, staying close to her sleeping lady. 

In that highest tower, within the heart of the city, Filianore was slumbering. A long enduring sleep that had protected the land of the Pygmies from the ravages of time. Her dreams ensured this place’s survival, for however long it would take.

Still, even now, Shira couldn’t help but wonder if her lady dreamed of her as well…

She would have gone to see for herself, to look upon Filianore’s lovely face and make the endless wait a little more bearable. Yet the corpse on her cross spear had been unstable of late and while it was dangerous to travel through the Ringed City without a weapon, she was terrified bringing something like this near her lady. Anything that might disturb her sleep and break the spell was too great a risk to bring.

So she stayed in her darkroom, day after day and she prayed. She prayed to the Soul of Gwyn, if such a thing indeed still existed. She prayed to each and every God there ever was in Anor Londo, for their will to be done and their Age to begin again. She had even prayed to the Silver Knights themselves, as it were there statues that lined the wall of her shelter. She prayed for the Unkindled and Undead souls to give themselves to the Fire, so the world might live again. 

“Do you think our prayers all sound the same after a while, to those we pray to?”

The voice, spoken with a hint of amusement, had her look up. She looked across the candlelit darkness, trying to determine the source. Soon, her eyes fell onto a light silhouette standing in the shadows, smiling at her. She smiled back in return, glad to see this figure in her sanctum.

“It has been a while, Halflight.” 

The man chuckled. “I know and I apologize. My duties tend to keep me bound elsewhere.”

She rolled her eyes at that with humor. “As it does for us all.”

She got up from her kneeling position and walked up to him, arms outstretched. He accepted the friendly embrace without hesitation. For a moment, it reminded her just how much she missed human contact, just how much she craved feeling Filianore against her… She pushed that thought aside, instead focusing on giving her friend a proper welcome. 

“So what brings thee to my darkroom? Hast Judicator Argo no need of thee?”

The sorcerer from Oolacile smiled and shook his head. “No. The Ringed City has been quiet recently. Almost too quiet… Like a calm before the storm…”

His words had an ominous ring to them, one that had her pause for a moment. Even so, he clearly didn’t. Instead, he reached for his satchel and pulled out some items.

“I have got something… I found it in the bowels of the city. I am surprised it has remained fresh. I suppose we have to thank the fellow countrymen who came before me for their magic…”

Shira’s eyes moved to his hands and practically lit up at what she saw there. Wrapped in some red velvet cloth were two breads, a ham, some apples, honey cheese and butter, as well a bottle of good wine. It was practically a feast and for a moment, she wondered just how he managed to find something within the ruins of the Ringed City. 

Eventually, however, she decided not to question her good fortune and simply smiled. “Well, let us not waste a precious meal. I would offer a table, but I am unfortunately sorely lacking that. Chairs I do have.”

The sorcerer gave her a good-humored laugh. “Fair enough. Let us eat then.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Soon, the two of them were seated and enjoying this little blessing from the mysterious ruins of the Ringed City. They smiled and made merry, reminiscing about pasts eons ago, all while savoring the taste of their food and the illusion of time actually passing by.

It was a little bit of luxury, if anything. After all, the likes of them needed little to no food, living off the godly blood and miracles they were both ken to. Still, Shira liked to still eat every once in a while. If only to feel a little more normal again. If only to remember how it once was…to remember Filianore…

“Did you and your lady ever attend the banquets in Anor Londo?”

The piercing question snapped her out of her thoughts. She looked at him, frowning, wondering how he was able to know what she was thinking about. He simply chuckled.

“You always have that look when you’re thinking about her.”

Blushing a little at being so easy to read, but understanding his question was simply friendly curiosity, she answered. “We rarely did. Filianore… She was a baseborn child. Her mother only became a Goddess after her death. It would have looked ill to have her attend official feasts like his other children… Yet sometimes, he could make allowances and could bring us inside, passing us off as someone else…”

She heard how her voice turned bitter as she recounted this tale. While she remembered her vow and had never voiced it, she had despised Lord Gwyn’s treatment of his daughter. Of the fact he hid something so pure and good as an object of shame while flaunting his other offspring, whose mothers he was equally unfaithful towards but whose status made them worthwhile to acknowledge. 

Her nose wrinkled, thinking of those other children. At every one of the few feasts she’d attended, she had often thrown jealous glares at Gwyn’s trueborn offspring and how little they seemed to realize their own privilege. Arrogant Gwynnant, vain and shallow Gwynevere, manipulative Gwyndolyn. Why should they have everything Filianore deserved far more? A sentiment that only increased as all of them chose to betray their father over the years while her mistress agreed to sacrifice herself for the good of all…

She could feel her anger boiling over at that moment and no doubt Halflight noticed it to. He reached over to her, giving her hands a friendly squeeze with his own as to calm her. It helped, if only a little, and she continued her tale.

“Those banquets were splendid, however… Those halls of Anor Londo’s palace, lit up with candles, chandeliers and miracles… Filled with singers, jugglers, dancers and magicians, all of them showing us glory and wonder… And the food was something out of one’s wildest fantasies… Intricate pies made of fruits and nuts, filled with honey and fresh cream. Fresh and light cheese and fish and crustaceans braced in butter and spices. Roast herons, swans and peacocks... Our Lord made certain you would never forget his splendor…”

She must have sounded especially dreamy as she described it, as Halflight laughed. “It indeed sounds unforgettable the way you remember it...”

Shira blushed a little at that, not quite used to letting down her stern demeanor, and quickly chose to divert attention by posing a question of her own. “So what about thee? Has thou ever attended these opulent displays?”

He shook his head with a smile. “No. Oolacile missionaries never went to Anor Londo. After all, why preach the will of the Gods to those who are ever in their presence? Besides, ours was a nation of soberness. Surely it would have looked bad on our nation if any of us were seen there. Though the keyword there is probably “seen”.”

That little remark caused her to snort a little, only to lean in as she munched on some ham. “Was Oolacile that beautiful? Before the Abyss came to it?”

A longing sigh left the missionary’s mouth. “Oh, it was. A place unlike any other, splendid in a way even Anor Londo couldn’t be. A place of light and life and there was magic in the very earth. The good, pure kind, primal as it had been long before the Gods… It was paradise…”

A wistful smile appeared on his face as he spoke, only for him to grow silent again and let out an rueful cough. “I apologize. I am getting carried away...”

The soft, dejected tone of his voice had Shira stiffen. Perhaps it was the sense of longing and loss in it. The sense of being ripped from comfort and warmth that she herself so often felt. That only dulled, but never really left no matter how much she prayed and meditated…

She shook her head. “I beg thee, do not be. There is no shame in longing for the homes we have once known. All I can hope and pray for is that, one day, we may look upon it once more, free of the Dark…”

For a moment, his eyes met hers. “Do you think that day will still come?”

It was that question that caused her smile to disappear for a brief instant. Suddenly, she could feel the darkroom grow even chillier and a feeling of dread crept over her. One that felt she suddenly realized was familiar…and had been there for a long time.

Even so, she ignored it. “Of course. Our Lord Gwyn might be gone, but a successor will eventually come and relight the Flame for good. The Gods will return and the world will be bathed in light.”

“Do you really think that?”

Again, there was that chill settling into her bones, brought on by a few simple words. Words that may have rung inside her own skull as well, at one point or another. Words of doubt, of faith that might be forsaken.

Words she never wanted to hear from a missionary…

“How canst thou speak such wretched things?”

She asked before she could stop herself. Before she even wanted to. In truth, she didn’t want to search that part of her mind and thoughts. Yet she spoke before she could stop herself and her friend answered.

He took another bite of the food. “It has been so long… Centuries have come and gone, Gwyn and the Gods have long left. Civilizations have risen and vanished, the memory of the world of old slowly fading. Can a memory of so long ago still sustain the world as it is now?”

She responded, readily, almost vehemently. “It can. As long as we are here. As long as we recall how beautiful that memory was and how much it was worth.”

As she said this, her thoughts instantly returned to Filianore. She thought of the woman she loved, with her beautiful pale skin and flaxen hair. With her sweet, kind and graceful demeanor and a charming smile that would melt even the iciest of hearts. When she thought of purity and goodness, she thought of her. How could the world not want such a thing? How could anyone not want what Filianore had to offer as the Queen of a world of Fire?

“You love her, do you not?”

Halflight sounded almost jovial and as she stared at him with a start and without reply, he continued. “Filianore. She was more than just your mistress…”

Before she fully realized it, Shira turned away. She quickly reached for some of the bread and put it in her mouth, washing it down with wine. It barely tasted like anything and even the wine made it feel like a stone descending to her stomach. A glance to the missionary, however, revealed that she shook his head with a gentle smile.

“I do not judge you for that. Never would and never will. Yet there are things you should know…”

Despite herself, Shira found herself giving him her undivided attention and she cringed as she heard an edge of hurt in his voice. “Filianore… The darkness has changed her. Her sleep is becoming more fitfull. Her hair has turned raven. There are dark veins creeping up to her eyes. What I am trying to say… Should she awaken, she might not be the same woman she once was…”

His voice broke as that final sentence left his lips, but Shira barely heard it. Instead, a flood of emotions overtook her at the things she heard. Disbelief, sadness, indignance, raw fury. An immense sense of denial and outright hatred that her one friend in the ruins of this city frozen in time could be this pessimistic. Could it be that he had given up on the Lady he’d sworn to protect?

“Even if she is not, then we must deal with it as it comes. We swore to carry out Lord Gwyn’s will with our lives or hast thou forgotten that vow so lightly? The Age of Fire must return to this world. To return splendor to humankind. Truly thou cannot have grown complacent towards the Dark! Towards Lady Filianore’s life?”

“Lord Gwyn is gone, Shira. The Gods are gone. So are Anor Londo and Oolacile and many other kingdoms based on their will. Civilizations have come and gone since then, through Fire and Dark, all bearing the burden of a cycle our Lord started. They rose because of it and in spite of it, even without Gods or their missionaries to guide them. Faith never staved off the Dark and Fire was conjured by desperation. The primal forces of this world move on, whether we do or not.”

By now, the knightess could feel tears sting behind her eyes. “What art thou even insinuating?”

The missionary let out a sigh, weary and heavy. “What I’m saying is that perhaps, there is something beyond the cycle. Beyond what Gods from an age long past have decided for mankind. Perhaps the old world should not come back nor will we inherit the new one. Perhaps it’s us, the remnants of a passing age, that must be sacrificed upon the altar of change.”

To this, Shira could not respond. Instead, she stared at him, the man who had been her closest friend for so long, and the gaze she held was made of pure ice. Had he blasphemed Lord Gwyn then and there, it would have not earned him the ire she felt this very instant. 

How could he, a missionary from Oolacile, have come to these conclusions? How could he even think, if just for a moment, that what they were doing was not just, not in the best interest of this entire world? How could he doubt the decree of a great man who had created existence as it was now?

It could be, she figured, because he had never known the Gods the way she did. A wandering missionary like him only knew them in passing, from brief meetings and through the texts he had memorized. He had never truly exulted in their presence, basked in their glory nor had he ever personally felt the love of a being whose soul stood so far above others…

She rose from her chair, reaching for her weapon and tapping its handle against the tiles. “Perhaps thy faith has wavered by adversity, Halflight of Oolacile, but mine certainly has not! Even if I were here to the end of time, here I will remain and protect my Lady. Thy sworeth an oath to do the same. The Spears of the Church suffer none who take it lightly.”

Her passionate declaration bounced off the cold walls of the darkroom and she looked towards her friend, determined to see what the effects were. Yet where she had hoped for awe or even remorse, she simply received a blank expression. A look devoid of any feeling, only to then turn into a weary, almost sad chuckle. 

The missionary reached over to the wine, drinking deeply from it. She could practically hear him choke on the sips, the sound of a man who drank to soften pain rather than for pleasure. He put the cup down, the sound of it startlingly loud in the otherwise empty room and he looked her over with a mournful smile, one that betrayed courage and resignation all at once.

“Do you truly think me so craven? I have no betrayal in mind. I’ll do my duty same as yours. I will not break my oath. I will fight with all my might to protect Filianore, for your sake and mine. But if someone comes, strong enough to defeat me, then I will not die weeping. Perhaps that person will be strong enough to break a cycle and usher in another age, of neither Fire nor Dark and the world will move on once more, to where even the Gods could not…”

Every word of it was filled with conviction, the kind of cold conviction that filled her with dread. There was no cynicism in his statement nor anger or bitterness over his prediction. No, what shook Shira to the core was that he sounded accepting. Accepting of his situation and of possible failure. Accepting of a possible fruitless end. Accepting of a chaotic, senseless world without a bigger picture, one that might not be shaped no matter how much the Gods had tried.

That, the knightess found, scared her more than anything. The notion that there might be things in this world she could not combat with miracles, blessings and her deep, abiding love of the Gods. The idea that perhaps, to this man, there was something beyond faith. That it was not instinctually tied to honor and love. That perhaps the promise she made to herself of witnessing paradise might not come to pass and that there were some that could truly find peace with such a reality. It frightened her, to think it might not be as it once were…

Perhaps the age of Fire was indeed over and Filianore would never awaken…

Suddenly, there was the sound. A shifting noise, that seemed to envelop everything, before worming its way towards Halflight. A strange pulling force appeared all around him and instantly, she knew what it meant. Clearly, so did he as he stood up with a resigned exhalation. 

“Argo calls for me. Another dares intrude in our sanctuary. I am sorry we must part on such hard words. Keep the rest of the meal and I pray we will meet again under better circumstances.”

In any other case, she would have hated how curt he was. Yet she knew how quickly he could be summoned and so she forgave him for this sudden parting. There were many things she still wanted to say to him. So many things she wanted to utter to convince him not to lose hope or still keep faith with the legacy of the Gods. Instead, she kept it brief and bowed her head.

“I wish thee the same. Come back victorious, Halflight. Come back alive and protect our Lady.”

She meant it, every word and the smile on his face made clear he understood that. She wanted to see him back alive. If only to speak of this again. To perhaps convince him that it was not always a folly to cling to the past. To restore the faith that seemed to have slipped from him and bolster her own. If only, so she would not be entirely alone until she saw her deepest wish granted. 

As he faded from the darkroom, she looked down at the food, still splayed out between the two chairs. She had no appetite for it anymore and the place felt awfully quiet and hollow now she was alone again. It left a knife twisting in her stomach and so she turned away, to the statues of the Silver Knights that lined the walls, a splendid reminder of better times.

She knelt as she always did to pray. To regain her calmness and patience to endure this long wait. To hold on to faith even in a world where that never seemed to move her forward. To pray for a morning she still hoped would come, so she might see Filianore once again.


End file.
